


Only In My Dreams

by tryslora



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: harrydracompreg, Dream Magic, Dream Sex, Dreams, F/M, M/M, Mpreg, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-25
Updated: 2012-06-25
Packaged: 2017-11-08 12:04:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has always wanted a family of his own, but it just never seems to be the right time with Ginny. When he turns up pregnant, neither of them is sure what to do. But the inquiry after the child’s birth reveals a surprise link to the one person Harry never wanted to admit to dreaming about, and he has to figure out what, exactly, family means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only In My Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the community [harrydracompreg](http://harrydracompreg.livejournal.com) on Livejournal for the prompt:
> 
> _No one is more surprised than Harry, except perhaps Ginny, when he turns up pregnant. When the baby, a boy, is born with grey eyes and pale blond hair, everyone has questions, especially Draco. Veritiserum verifies Harry and Draco are both speaking the truth when they each swear, they never. But The wizarding truth serum does reveal feelings that neither wanted known, especially to the other. It turns out thoughts and wishes can be very powerful indeed, especially when wizards are involved._
> 
> Many thanks to S for the beta; any errors still left are all mine, by choice or by me missing them! Thank you to the prompter for this wonderful, fascinating prompt. It was great fun figuring out how it came about, and how to resolve it in the end. I wish I had more time to write an even longer story for you!
> 
> As always, the characters and world belong to JK Rowling. I just like to play here.

"Something's wrong." Ginny kneels next to Harry in the bathroom, whose arms are resting on the cold porcelain, his head bowed. Her expression is drawn, brown eyes dark with worry. "You've been sick for two weeks now. It can't be a bug, not when you can't keep anything down. I think you need to go to St. Mungo's."   
  
"I'm fine." And he tries to make himself believe it. He's  _fine_ . He has to be fine. There are no other options but fine. Because if he's not fine… his mind spins through diseases and possibilities, and he wonders for a moment if the wizarding world has cured cancer yet.   
  
Or maybe he's dying.   
  
He can't be dying.   
  
Therefore he must be fine. Right?   
  
"I'm scared, Harry," Ginny admits, and her cheek is warm against his clammy skin.   
  
He feels his heart skip as she says exactly what he's thinking.   
  
"Please go see a Healer." Her voice drops to a whisper, low and vulnerable, showing the heart that lies inside the brave armour she shows everyone else.   
  
He loves her. He  _does_ . He reminds himself of that fact as he nods slowly and promises, "I'll make an appointment to go see a Healer. But really, Ginny, I'm fine."   
  
If he says it enough, he might almost believe it.   
  
#   
  
The Healer hmms and hums as he works, and Harry tries not to think about just how cold his bum is against the table. He lies there, a sheet covering his naked body, eyes closed, wondering what, exactly, the Healer sees. He wishes he could be clothed so he didn't feel so achingly vulnerable, naked in more than body. It's as if the Healer strips the skin away and looks below for whatever is killing him.   
  
_Nothing_  is killing him.   
  
"Well, the good news is, Mr. Potter, you're not going to die."   
  
Eyes flicker open, staring at the man who has just echoed his thoughts. "I'm not?" Harry asks, momentarily surprised enough to be honest about the fact that he'd thought he would. "Then what is it?"   
  
The Healer clears his throat. "Well, it appears you're pregnant."   
  
Pregnant.   
  
" _Pregnant?_ " Harry's horrified by the squeak in his voice. "That's impossible."   
  
"In the magical world, Mr. Potter, nothing is impossible. Merely highly improbable," he is told, with a meant-to-be-comforting pat on his shoulder. "It is a rare man who is able to conceive, so in the future you'll need to be more careful in your relations."   
  
"Relations?" Harry shakes his head. "I don't have relations. I mean. I do. With my  _girl_ friend. Ginny Weasley. She's in the waiting room."   
  
The Healer's gentle smile says clearly that he doesn't believe a word Harry says, but he nods anyway, and pats his arm. "Why don't you get dressed and I'll have her come in. There are a few things you'll need to know if you're to carry this baby safely to term." He hesitates at the door, adding, "I'll make sure you have some time alone. I'm quite certain you'll need to talk."   
  
Talk about what? Harry can't think how this could have happened. He's  _never_ … He never  _would_ .   
  
A flush stains his skin.   
  
He has Ginny. Of  _course_  he never would.   
  
#   
  
She blinks at him, brown eyes wide and confused. "I don't understand."   
  
When she sits next to him, he catches her scent, that odd mix of rose-petal shampoo and cinnamon face wash. He catches her hands in his and tries to kiss her, but she twists away, refusing his affection.   
  
He understands why she's confused, but it still hurts. "I didn't do anything, Gin."   
  
"Then how the hell are you pregnant?" She glares at him, and he remembers how furious her temper can be, and how glad he has been that it has never been leveled in his direction until now. He wonders if he has a place to sleep at home tonight, or if he ought to find a mate's sofa to kip on.   
  
He sighs. "I don't know. Honestly!" he adds as the glare intensifies. "I love you, Ginny. The only person I've ever been with is you. Unless something happened somehow between  _us_ , I don't know how I ended up pregnant."   
  
She makes a soft huffing noise, but she relaxes, her body leaning into his until his arm goes around her and he gathers her in. It is comfortable and familiar, and Harry finally feels himself relax as she eases. Maybe he can sleep at home after all.   
  
"I'm still angry at you," she says softly.   
  
"Maybe it was something that happened at work," Harry muses. "Some kind of magical accident. I'll go through the files and get a list of all the things I've been hit with or splashed with or had invoked somewhere near me, and we'll give it all to the Healer. He can figure out how it happened." He hopes she is done arguing, that she trusts him, because he hasn't done anything. She has always been the only one, ever since the war. For five years now, it has been him and Ginny and their two-bedroom flat with an owl, a Kneazle, a Crup, and two Puffskeins. Someday he figures they'll get married, but now isn't the time, even though Molly keeps hinting about grandchildren.   
  
He groans softly at that thought. "Your mum…"   
  
"Is going to have an absolute fit," Ginny finishes his sentence. "Maybe we wait to tell her. Maybe something will change if we wait."   
  
Harry doesn't think that is going to happen. The Healer has said he's pregnant, and when he thinks about it, the symptoms are right. It doesn't make sense, but like the Healer said, this is the magical world. Sometimes the improbable things happen. "We're still solid, right?" He has to ask, because he needs her by his side. He can't imagine doing this without her.   
  
"I think so." Her hand finds his, twisting their fingers together and squeezing. "I'm still scared for you, Harry. Boys aren't built to have babies."   
  
He's been trying not to think about that part. "It has to come out somehow," he says hollowly.   
  
"I know." She squeezes his hand again and leans her head on his shoulder. "I'll be with you when it does."   
  
He knows she means it to be comforting, but somehow it isn't. He doesn't want to think that far ahead, doesn't want to think about the idea of giving birth somehow. He is going to just remember that he's _fine_  and stick with that. That's the only way he'll stay sane for nine more months.   
  
#   
  
The newspapers love the story:  _The Boy Who Defeated Voldemort to Bear Son of His Own_ . They show pictures of Harry and Ginny as they leave St. Mungo's after his regular visits, Harry's hand pressed against the small of his back to offset the balance of his bulging belly. They follow him everywhere, showing how he has been relegated to a desk job as an Auror until after the birth. They cover the massive row he has with Ron, trying to convince his best mate that he hasn't cheated on Ginny, and they cover the dinner three nights later where Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Harry sit in a restaurant late into the night, trying to divine exactly what might have happened.   
  
Despite their best efforts, their four minds together cannot figure it out, although the papers have many ideas, and are more than happy to offer them, one by one, presenting these theories as fact. Harry stops reading after learning that he is a shapeshifter who turns female on the full moon, or that he somehow twisted a killing curse while countering it, turning it into a life-giving curse that now grows inside of him. He doesn't want to think about what happened anymore.   
  
All Harry wants is a night's peaceful sleep, without waking to piss, without being kicked, without his back aching.   
  
Without dreams.   
  
Unsettling, disturbing dreams that are terrifying in their vivid bright colour.   
  
He complains about the dreams to his Healer, flushing rather than explain their content. But his Healer only laughs and tells him that dreams come with pregnancy and are normal, and to make sure Ginny is with him when he sleeps because some sleepwalk through pregnancy.    
  
Harry doesn't sleepwalk. But he does ache, fiercely and hungrily and wakes embarrassed in the morning over what his sleeping mind has shown him. Ginny soothes him, relieves him and enjoys what hormones have done to increase his hunger for her and his passion. She loves how he is gentle with her, and caring, tells him often how she loves that he wants to spend time snuggling now. And Harry feels guilty, because he does love her. He does. But at the same time, she erases the memories of the dreams, and lets him lose himself in reality instead.   
  
He researches Dreamless Sleep potions, but quickly learns that there are no options which are considered safe during pregnancy. And while this child might be absolutely unexpected, it is still his son, and Harry will not jeopardize that. After all, he has always wanted a family, and this child is his own, not borrowed or adopted. This baby will be  _his_ .   
  
#   
  
Harry is at work when the labour first strikes, an unexpected pain making him cry out and hunch over as it lances across his abdomen. It is followed by a sharp twinge, pulling at his lower back, and he goes to his knees. It reminds him of a  _Crucio_  and he wonders how he is supposed to bear it.   
  
He hopes it will be over quickly.   
  
He goes by Floo to St. Mungo's, and Ginny meets him there as promised. He lies in the bed and tries not to make a sound as she pets his hand and assures him that it's all right if he cries. He crushes her hand with the pain, and sees tears at the corners of her eyes.   
  
They have read all the books, and listened to the lectures from Harry's Healer. They know what to expect, that the body will create a birth canal for the child to be born, and that after all is done it will take several days before Harry will be able to leave the hospital, and weeks before he is back to normal. No one can say how long it will take for his body to ready itself, and he knows that this pain is only the beginning. Once his body is ready, then the true test will begin as he pushes the baby out.   
  
It takes three days.   
  
Three days of constant monitoring with the Healer assuring Harry and Ginny that the infant is well and not troubled by the pain of Harry's shifting body. Three days of waiting to be ready, of constant pain and sleep in fitful bursts. Harry is thankful that there are no dreams; he doesn't sleep long enough for one to begin. There is pain, there is the movement of the child within him, and there is Ginny. Nothing else.   
  
In the end, once he is finally ready, it seems almost easy. He forgets the pain at the sound of his child's cry and the confirmation that it is, indeed, a boy. The infant is placed on his chest, and Harry sees him for the first time, and grey eyes meet green.   
  
Where has he seen those eyes before?   
  
Then he is lost in the wonder of giving his son his first bottle, watching tiny lips suck hungrily, the furor of feeding fading slowly into sleep as the grey eyes close and the infant naps.    
  
"He's beautiful," Ginny says, her voice soft and remote. Harry wonders if she has something else to say.   
  
But he really doesn't care, not then. This is his son, his miracle child that came from nowhere and is here with him now. He knows there are things to be settled, but none of them matter more than the wee infant that sleeps in his arms. So Harry closes his eyes to join his son in the dreamlands, and for the first time in months, he finds peace in those dreams.   
  
#   
  
The Daily Prophet requests an official photo session and, hoping to stave off stalker photographers, Harry agrees. He sits with James in the crook of his arm and the photographer captures his besotted expression, the way he dotes on his infant son. A picture of him toying with a pale strand of hair, twisting the white-blond lock around his fingers lightly before touching James' cheek, graces the front page.   
  
The whispers begin later that day as the wizarding world looks carefully at James. They see his fine pale hair, his grey eyes, and the sharp chin visible despite the baby fat cheeks.   
  
They whisper  _Malfoy_ .   
  
Ginny can't help but hear the whispers, and she denies the rumours vehemently as Harry knew she would. He has told her nothing but the truth, and she defends him. He is grateful for that.   
  
But she isn't home the day the knock comes on his door. When he answers it, James cradled sleeping in his arms, Malfoy is standing there, bracketed on either side by men in formal robes.   
  
Malfoy looks at the infant, staring while Harry stares back at him, refusing to give ground. "I didn't invite you," he says finally, starting to close the door.   
  
A toe in the way stops him, and he has to meet Malfoy's gaze. Grey eyes, dark and stormy. "I didn't expect you would," Malfoy says dryly. "I am here at my father's behest, to observe the child."   
  
"What does he matter to you?" Harry curls James closer, to shield him from the sharp gaze. "He's my son, and you and I… we've never been friends."   
  
One of the men reaches past Malfoy, offering a scroll which unrolls before Harry's eyes. He is exhausted from lack of sleep, being up at all hours with James, and the legalese gobbledygook is too much for him. He skims the words to the end, where he realizes that it states that by law, as he has not named a father, he must submit to investigation by any wizard wishing to confirm paternity of his child.   
  
Harry steps back from the words, a dark rose flush staining his skin, and Malfoy uses that moment to gain entrance to the home Harry shares with Ginny, and now James. That sharp gaze sweeps over the sitting room, and Harry knows what he sees: scattered things blown about, as neither of the new parents has had the energy to clean properly. Malfoy points to a chair and waits until Harry sits, then he positions himself gingerly upon the corner of a couch, as if it might somehow contaminate his clothing.   
  
Harry stifles a laugh at the thought. "Nothing in here bites, Malfoy."   
  
"Who is the father of your child?" Malfoy's expression is blank, his voice cold.   
  
"No one," Harry replies. "We still haven't figured out how I became pregnant in the first place. The only person I have  _ever_  been with is Ginny."   
  
Malfoy's lips purse, sour and drawn from there into an angry, tight line. "My father believes otherwise." He speaks each word slowly. "That child bears Malfoy features, and to the best of our knowledge, there is no Malfoy blood in the Potter lineage."   
  
"I'd hope not," Harry says vehemently. "Can you imagine having to call each other cousin?"   
  
There is something unreadable in Malfoy's gaze as he replies quietly. "No. I cannot imagine thinking of you as a cousin. However, my father insists on determining the truth. I have already sworn to him that there has been nothing between us--"   
  
Harry is on his feet before Malfoy can finish speaking. "Of  _course_  there's nothing between us!" He shifts James to his other arm, gesturing with his right hand as soon as it's free. The sound of his voice and tension in his body wake the infant who lets slip a thin, high cry. "There's bloody well never been anything between us. Why would there be?"   
  
Malfoy remains where he sits, hands loosely folded above his knees. He is the perfect picture of quiet relaxation, if Harry were able to ignore the lines around his eyes and the tight set of his jaw. When Malfoy smiles, it does nothing for his eyes. "Of course," he says blandly. "However, one does not argue with Lucius Malfoy. He has requested that I submit to Ministry questioning regarding the paternity of that child under Veritaserum. And if I am to submit, I assure you that you are as well."   
  
A nod to the other robed man and another scroll is produced. Harry's gaze drops immediately to the bottom, to a time and date, and a note that if he does not appear before the Inquiry, guilt will be assumed.   
  
They could take his child.   
  
His son.   
  
His blood.   
  
Harry bows his head, lips pressed against the fine fuzz atop his son's head, whispering soothing sounds to quiet James as he slowly sways back and forth. The cries slow and ease as James slips back to sleep.   
  
He can't risk losing his child by not appearing. He looks over at Malfoy. "I'll be there," he says softly. "And after that, I don't want to ever see you again. James is my son. I don't know what your father's thinking, but you have no claim on him."   
  
Malfoy hesitates as he stands, lingering for a moment close to Harry. One hand reaches out and Harry forces himself to stay still as Malfoy touches James. One fingertip, a light brush across the forehead as Malfoy's expression softens. "He is beautiful," he murmurs. "Congratulations, Potter. I might almost envy you."   
  
"You'll have children of your own eventually." Harry forces the polite words out, knowing it is the right thing to say.   
  
But it makes Malfoy draw back, stiffening once more as his expression cools. "I doubt it." Malfoy turns away as he speaks, and is quickly gone, leaving Harry to wonder what exactly that meant.   
  
And after all, if Malfoy were to remain childless, that couldn't possibly be a bad thing, could it? With an example like Lucius Malfoy, Harry can't imagine that Draco Malfoy could be a good father. It's best that he doesn't perpetuate the Malfoy madness.   
  
Harry kisses the top of James' head, and tries not to think how lonely he might be if he didn't have his son. He doesn't want to feel sympathy for Malfoy.   
  
#   
  
Harry doesn't want to leave James, but he is persuaded to let Molly watch the baby while he appears for the Veritaserum inquiry at the Ministry. He can't deny the logic that he will be incapacitated for a time and not able to care for his son while under the influence. He can't deny that the day will be long and that he will be tense, which is never a good combination for a child to witness. So after a stop at The Burrow to leave his son and a bag full of everything possible he might need for the day, Harry and Ginny go directly to the Ministry.   
  
They try to tell them that Ginny cannot accompany Harry into the inquiry room, but when Lucius Malfoy stalks past with Draco Malfoy in his wake, Ginny levels a dark look at the guard and she is let through as well.   
  
The room is deceptively comfortable. Two large, comfortable chairs sit by a roaring fire, a table with a pitcher of water between them. There are sofas and chairs scattered throughout the room. The Malfoys sit on a sofa, Lucius' demeanour stiff, his expression one of pride and disdain. Harry lets his gaze drift to Malfoy, taking in how distant he seems, as if his mind is elsewhere and only his body is here. Lucius catches his observation and gives Harry a tight, knowing smile. Harry's gaze snaps back to the wall and his hand seeks Ginny's, their fingers tangling.   
  
"Everything's going to be okay," she whispers, lips brushing his cheek in a rush of cinnamon scent. "I know you, and I love you."   
  
The arbiter arrives and sets two ornate vials on the table between the chairs. He asks one simple question: who will go first? That launches a furious argument between Ginny and the elder Malfoy, and Harry tunes it out, staring at the potions. Just a few drops are in each vial, he knows, but those few drops will make him tell the truth in response to every question they ask.   
  
They don't know the right questions, he assures himself. He has  _never_  slept with Draco Malfoy. That is the truth, and that is all he will say.   
  
He glances over and sees Malfoy staring at the vials as well. Malfoy turns, as if he feels Harry's gaze upon him, and meets his eyes. Distance has been replaced by stark loss and desolation, visible only in the flash of a moment before Malfoy looks away and stares at his clasped hands instead.   
  
Harry isn't certain what he saw, but he knows that it is one of those rare moments where he has seen Draco Malfoy seem vulnerable. Human. The thought of it coils warmly in the pit of his stomach, and he clenches his hands, breathing deeply and seeking equanimity.   
  
The decision is finally made that they will both drink their potions at the same time, and answer questions to the best of their ability without talking over each other. Harry's palms are clammy and cold as he takes his seat. He lifts the vial and uncorks it, staring at the potion within for a moment before he puts the vial to his lip and drinks it down.   
  
He has taken Veritaserum before, and he has always hated it. There is a moment of resistance, when his body tries to refuse the magic that controls it, then a sudden blissed acceptance as he lets go and floats. There is a tiny part of him that never quite gives in, raging in the corners of his mind against this _thing_  that makes him speak his mind.   
  
Harry despises giving up control. Except-- The memory of his dreams comes quick to his mind and he flushes at the imagery, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.   
  
"Mr. Potter." The arbiter addresses him, and Harry struggles to remember his name.   
  
"I am," he replies, the words slipping free. "And you're Biltrain. We worked together on the Fargo case."   
  
Biltrain's smile is thin. "Yes, we did. It is a pleasure to work with you again."   
  
"No, it's not." Harry tries to rein in his speech, but the words spill out whether he wants them to or not. He feels Malfoy's gaze on him. "You're not happy to be here, and neither am I. In fact, I don't think any of us are happy to be here. Ginny's still worried that I might have actually done something behind her back, and Lucius Malfoy is afraid his son is a buggering freak. I just want to go home to my son. I don't know what Malfoy's thinking," he has to admit, because he can't read those silver-grey eyes that are focused so intently on him.   
  
"I see this is going to be an entertaining session." Lucius Malfoy smiles, and crosses his legs, settled clasped hands over his knee.    
  
"If you would please refrain from speaking," Biltrain says sharply. "If you'll recall, the conditions of the inquiry are that only a Ministry trained arbiter may question the subjects." He waits until Lucius settles, before turning his attention back to Harry. "A moment ago you had a thought that made you blush. Would you tell me what that was?"   
  
"No." Harry smiles, pleased at the way the question was phrased.   
  
Biltrain's expression darkens. "Mr. Potter, if you continue in this manner, we shall be here all day."   
  
"And some of us do have other plans, Potter," Malfoy drawls.   
  
"He asked a question and I answered," Harry points out. He hears a soft clearing of the throat and glances to see Ginny's gaze on him. Her lips purse, brown eyes pinched and eyebrows furrowed into a small glare.   
  
"Very well." Biltrain shifts his attention to Malfoy. "Mr. Malfoy, are you and Mr. Potter in a relationship?"   
  
Malfoy smiles thinly. "No."   
  
"Are you the father of his child?" Biltrain presses forward.   
  
"I can't imagine how I could be," Malfoy replies. "Anyone who could imagine that Potter and I would produce a child together must be daft. For one, he isn't gay."   
  
"And you are?"   
  
Malfoy swallows hard, lips pressed, but the potion forces him to speak. "Yes. I am."   
  
Harry's eyes close, images rising unbidden, and his breath catches as his hands clench.   
  
"What are you thinking about, Mr. Potter?"   
  
"Dreams," he says quickly, hoping the potion will let him just say that. He can feel more words waiting, bubbling on the back of his tongue, but he tries to swallow them down, choking on the bitter taste.   
  
"Of?"   
  
That one word, one tiny little question, and Harry cannot keep the words at bay any longer. Hands clench so tightly he feels the tips of his nails against his palm. "Malfoy." It comes out as a whisper, and falls into dead silence in the room.   
  
"You've been  _dreaming_  about Malfoy?" Ginny is on her feet, hands on her hips, glaring at him. "What _kind_  of dreams?"   
  
"Miss Weasley, if you please."   
  
Biltrain's attempt to control her doesn't matter, the question has been asked and Harry has no choice but to respond. "Sexual ones," he admits, skin flushed dark rose, warming rapidly. "I dream about him fucking me."   
  
A soft hiss and Harry winces, embarrassed and horrified that Malfoy had to hear that admission. All he hears is breathing. Malfoy's, soft and shallow, as if he barely draws breath. Ginny's is hoarse and rough, tears barely held. Harry's breath rips at his chest, ragged and raw and filled with things unsaid, just waiting for the wrong question to bring them out.   
  
"I see." Biltrain's voice is dry. "Mr. Potter, have you ever had sexual relations with Mr. Malfoy?"   
  
No. But…   
  
"Only in my dreams," Harry whispers, and he hopes that Biltrain doesn't ask if he would  _want_  to do so in reality, because he is afraid what his lips might say without his fears to set the words straight.   
  
Silence.   
  
Harry opens his eyes slowly, straightening in the chair. Ginny stands not far away, tension nearly vibrating through her body. He raises one hand and she steps back, brown eyes dark with hurt, and his gaze drops, shifts, and he looks to his side where Malfoy stares at him.   
  
"Mr. Malfoy, have you dreamed of sexual relations with Mr. Potter?" Biltrain's speaks, sharp and clipped, cutting through the thick wall of silence.   
  
"I have."   
  
Biltrain nods, and makes a note. "Well then, I have to ask the obvious. In these dreams, which of you was the receptive partner?"   
  
They answer at the same time, Malfoy saying  _Potter_  as Harry flushes and responds that it was himself.   
  
He hates not being in control. But in those dreams, in  _those_  moments, it was sweet bliss to let go and give in, to let Malfoy take him. Caress him. Make him fly higher than he could on a broom, and bring him to a sweet, crashing release.   
  
"Then I believe we have our answer."   
  
Harry feels the bottom drop out of his stomach. "We do? They were only dreams, Biltrain.  _Dreams_ . Malfoy and I have  _never_ \--"   
  
"You are one of the strongest young wizards of our time, Mr. Potter," Biltrain informs him as he gathers together his notes. "Mr. Malfoy is a gifted wizard as well. It is obvious that the two of you have been denying your desires for quite some time, and the strength of your wishes has made itself known in your dreams." His smile is cool, professional. "You are wizards, and wishes are the magic of the heart."   
  
"You're saying that the child is the product of wishing?" Malfoy raises one eyebrow, breath soft and slow, too measured to be anything but controlled.   
  
"I am indeed. Now, if you'll let me attend to the details, I shall have the files ready for your solicitors by end of day, and you'll be able to proceed with the custody details." Biltrain gives a shallow nod. "Good day."   
  
Custody. Harry takes that word like a shot to his stomach, doubling over as he sits. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Malfoy rise, and he waits, not wanting to say more to him while still under the influence of the Veritaserum. When they are gone, he stands, reaching out for Ginny, but she isn't there. She must have slipped out while he stared at the floor, and he has been left alone.   
  
Harry shivers, worrying that this is it. This is the way his life will be. No Ginny. No James.   
  
No Malfoy.   
  
He drags in a shuddering gasp and forces himself to move, to go to Molly's, to get his son. Only time can tell what will happen next.   
  
#   
  
Ginny is in a rocking chair by the fire when Harry arrives at the Burrow, James cradled in her arms and fast asleep. She glances up as Harry comes in and with her chin she indicates the packed bag, waiting for him to collect it. "I'll carry him," she says quietly.   
  
"I didn't--"   
  
"I know." She doesn't let him finish the sentence. "You were under Veritaserum, Harry. You couldn't help but tell the truth. But…" She sighs, shifting James' small weight slightly as she stands. "Don't you think you should've mentioned you were having dreams about shagging Malfoy? That makes me wonder what you think about shagging me, especially since you didn't say a word."   
  
Harry can't help it; he looks towards the kitchen, then the stairs, waiting for Molly to pounce on him at this pronouncement. But Ginny smiles slightly and tells him that her mother's gone outside to talk to her father, and doesn't know a thing yet. Which is good, because once Molly knows, Harry wonders if he'll ever be welcome back here again.   
  
"I was embarrassed," he admitted. He lifted the bag, putting the strap over his shoulder and situating it comfortably so he could bend for the Floo. He tossed in the powder and called out the name for their flat, knowing Ginny wouldn't be far behind him.   
  
James sneezed when Ginny emerged, wrinkling his tiny nose. Harry dropped the bag and reached for him, and with a sigh, Ginny gave him back. The infant quieted in his father's arms, tucked in close and cradled.   
  
"He knows you," she said quietly. "He only tolerates me. I wonder what he'd be like with Malfoy."   
  
"Don't say that." Harry watches her, helpless, as she moves through the apartment, idly cleaning up the mess by tossing things into piles of his and hers.   
  
She pauses, a picture that had somehow been knocked to the floor held in her hands. He remembered when it had been taken, when they were in Brighton, on the beach about a year ago. She looks at both piles, then sets it down on the end table instead.   
  
Harry guesses that she hasn't decided yet what to do with things that were  _ours_  and couldn't be easily divided.   
  
"You look like you're packing."   
  
A small, wan smile, a pale imitation of her usual vibrant grin. "Not yet, but I think I'm going to move into the spare room. You're keeping James in the bedroom anyway."   
  
Of course he is, because it's simpler to summon a bottle than it is to traipse sleepily through the house for a crying child in the middle of the night. "You'll sleep better." And he knows that's not helpful, but it's likely true at least. "I do love you, Gin. With all my heart."   
  
The snort of laughter seems surprised out of her, and comes with a rueful smile. "No, you don't, Harry. You made a  _wish_  that got you pregnant because of a dream. I'd say there's a good bit of your heart that belongs to Malfoy, too." She shakes her head. "He's pretty, but really… isn't he still a complete prick?"   
  
"I don't know. I've only seen him in my dreams."   
  
And she laughs at that, punching his arm lightly. He reaches out to gather her in and she comes easily, her face pressed to his shoulder, eyes leaking tears until she is sobbing and holding onto him, and he feels tears of his own begin.   
  
"I know you love me," she whispers. "But I can't do this knowing you love him enough to have made James. I'm sorry, Harry."   
  
"But you're not moving out." It's important that she doesn't go, doesn't abandon him to this mess. She's always been a part of his life, it seems, and he can't imagine getting through this without her. Whatever the rest of  _this_  is.   
  
"I'm not moving out completely, no." She squeezes his hand. "I still love you too, you git. But this mess is a bit too much for me."   
  
It's too much for Harry, too, but he doesn't have any choice. He has James. He has to go on.   
  
#   
  
The summons comes on a Tuesday, while Ginny is at Quidditch practice and Harry is looking over paperwork, trying to prepare himself for going back to work. James sleeps quietly, not even noticing the owl that stands at the edge of the bassinet, peering curiously in at him.   
  
Harry slits the wax seal--green, and he suspects it is the Malfoy crest--and pulls out a piece of cream paper written in perfect script.   
  
_My Dear Harry,  
  
In light of your Situation, I believe that it behooves us to come to know the Boy I Helped and his child of the Malfoy line. Please do plan to attend Dinner on Friday night, at half seven. You may arrive early so that we may meet our Grandchild.  
  
With Most Sincere Wishes for your Health,  
  
Narcissa Malfoy_   
  
The note says nothing about taking his child, and Harry is relieved at that. But it means an evening spent with people he has never liked, watching a man he is attracted to be worn away by an overbearing father.   
  
But somehow, some way, James belongs to Draco Malfoy just as much as he belongs to Harry.   
  
And Harry remembers that gentle light in Malfoy's eyes when he looked at his son, and remembers the longing that was there as well.   
  
He turns over the letter and writes one word-- _Yes_ \--before tucking it back into the envelope, dropping an unshaped blob of garnet wax onto it, and sending the bird back.   
  
#   
  
Malfoy meets him at the door, a house elf hovering in the background, waiting to take Harry's cloak and his heavy bag of baby things. "You didn't bring the Weaselette," he observes.   
  
"If we're going to start off on the right foot, call her Ginny," Harry says firmly.   
  
"Then call me Draco," Malfoy-- _Draco_ \--responds. "And I shall call you Harry."    
  
The word seems alien on Draco's lips, but Harry has heard it before. In his dreams, falling in a rough gasp as he felt Draco press into him, begging him for more. Harry flushes, and when Draco's pale skin pinks softly, he wonders if Draco has the same memories.   
  
Harry carries James in the crook of one arm. Draco's gaze drops, staring at the child, eyes wide. James shifts and yawns, one eye creeping open to return the stare, quiet and even.   
  
There isn't anything else to do but hold the baby out, offering him. "Here. If he's…" Harry can't manage to quite say it, but he does acknowledge, "You ought to hold him. Say hello."   
  
Draco takes him gingerly, cautious and careful, relaxing only once the child is carefully nestled along his arm, head resting in the crook of his elbow. "They really are quite small, aren't they?" he says quietly. One finger lightly traces the lines of James' face, and Harry wonders if he looked that besotted the first time he held his son, too.   
  
"He's bigger than he was when he was born, but not that much yet. And he didn't feel small when I was giving birth." Harry flushes because that was more personal than he meant to be. But it's hard to talk about James and not to talk about the birth and the pregnancy.    
  
"It seems unbelievable that we created him by accident."   
  
Harry has to smile at that. "Most babies are accidents. Ours was just more unusually done than most."   
  
Draco meets his gaze. "I've never heard of such a thing, wishing a child into being."   
  
"I'm sure there's a more metaphysical explanation of it." Harry shrugs. "Something about the energy passed in dreams, when we were connected mind to mind. Or maybe something about when I claimed your wand."   
  
It only occurs to him after he says the words just how that could be taken. Draco smirks. "I suppose that could be it," he drawls, the smirk widening when Harry flushes.   
  
Are they flirting? Are they actually standing here in the foyer of Malfoy Manor, a place which holds only dark memories for Harry, and  _flirting_ ?   
  
He had forgotten until this moment what this place was to him. No, not forgotten. He had put it out of his mind, because that is the only way to go forward. But now that he has the thought, he can't let it go. He remembers standing here, waiting for Draco to say exactly who he is, positive that he has been recognized… and he remembers being bewildered as Draco says nothing.   
  
It was a long time ago now, but still, remembering it reminds him why this is so bizarre, to stand here with his former enemy, discussing the child they have created out of wishes and dreams.   
  
"I don't like this place," Harry says. "I only came because of James."   
  
Draco looks down at the small child sleeping in his arms then abruptly hands him back to Harry, who is left scrambling to hold him carefully when Draco steps away. "Tilly!" Draco calls sharply, and an elf is there. Perhaps it is the same one who met him at the door, Harry's not certain.   
  
It doesn't seem to matter to Draco as he quietly gives his orders. "Bring Mr. Potter's cloak and bag, and bring my cloak as well. We're stepping out."   
  
The elf tugs on his ears, expression clearly horrified. "But Mistress Malfoy…"   
  
"Will enjoy her dinner without us." Draco smiles, and for the first time, Harry sees him relax, the expression coming easily to him. "Let her know that we shall return after our outing, and after I have had time to get to know my son before she steals him away from me. I don't intend to stop her from meeting her grandson, merely delay it."   
  
The elf hesitates. Draco barks, "Now!" and the elf disappears with a loud  _pop_ .   
  
"I don't like this place either," Draco confides quietly. "I spent a year here in the company of a madman, not to mention my father and my aunt. It has seen far more than its share of death, enough that it stains the air. It's no place for a child."   
  
Harry isn't going to argue. When his cloak arrives, Draco drapes it about his shoulder, holding it while Harry shrugs into it, working around James carefully. It's nice to have help, even if it's a bit odd considering who it is. Draco shoulders the bag as they leave, and names a place. Harry knows it--it has fusion French/Italian cuisine, and something of a reputation for being expensive. Not that that matters to either a Potter or a Malfoy.   
  
"We'll be seen," he points out, remembering how closely the photographers follow his every move.   
  
Draco arches one eyebrow. "They'll say what they'll say, no matter what we do," he offers as rebuttal. "Will this upset your--Ginny?" he corrects himself.   
  
Harry huffs a sigh, not entirely sure of the answer to that. "I don't think it matters what I do or don't do at this point. We have to go forward somehow."   
  
After all, it's only dinner. It isn't as if he would ever--not with Draco Malfoy. Not outside of a dream.   
  
#   
  
He reminds himself later that they have  _never_ \--that they  _should_  never--and yet, Harry is pressed against a wall in the gardens of Malfoy Manor and Draco's tongue has slipped into his mouth. Draco strokes slowly, teasing him, holding him in place with the press of his body, and it is so  _familiar_ . Harry knows this, knows the taste of Draco's lips and the way he will touch him, one hand sliding down his arm to his waist, then tugging free his shirt from his slacks. Fingertips brush against Harry's skin, and he groans.   
  
It is too much, too soon, and yet it is still not enough.   
  
He manages to push Draco away and sees warmth in eyes gone the colour of stormy seas. "We can't," Harry says.   
  
"Apparently we already have," Draco reminds him. "If we're attracted to each other to the point where we can create a child out of dreams…"   
  
"How much did you want a child?" Harry asks, interrupting that thought. Because he has learned more about Draco in this one evening than in all the other years that he has known him. They spoke candidly over dinner, one topic leading to another with wine to lubricate the words and allow them to flow freely. And Harry thinks that now he has figured it out, come to understand why what happened had happened. He doesn't know what it means for the future, but at least he can see the cause.   
  
Draco's expression cools. "What do you mean?"   
  
"Don't," Harry says. He reaches out and touches him. "Don't go back into your shell. We both know it's a lie. Just like we know that denying that there's something between us--physically at least--would be a lie. But we aren't in love," he tells him. "Not yet."   
  
Draco's lips thin and he looks away. "I wanted a child of my own, yes. But I wasn't looking to have one with you."   
  
"I was just a convenient wank fantasy?"   
  
For the first time, Draco's flush stains his skin a bright rose, not faint at all. "I suppose so," he says stiffly. "Are you offended?"   
  
"I can't be, since obviously my subconscious was just as interested in you." Harry knows it isn't just subconscious, his body aching already just from a few kisses, and he wants that press against him again. But he can't give into it, not now, not without cheating on the girl he loves.   
  
He sets aside the fleeting thought that Ginny already knows, and that she wouldn't be surprised. It would still hurt her, and he wouldn't do this to her for the world. Not without talking. Without figuring it out first.   
  
Harry wrestles his mind back to the discussion of James, who sleeps in a conjured child carrier nearby. "My point is that you wanted something more than this." He waves a hand at the Manor. "You wanted a child you could raise differently than Lucius raised you. You wanted a family. More than anything, am I right?"   
  
Draco starts to look away, but Harry touches his cheek, waiting until Draco's attention returns to him. He locks gazes with him, green eyes watching grey until Draco blinks and admits, "Yes. My mother adores me, but this isn't… it isn't anything like I've seen others have. And I was quite sure that a child of my own blood would be denied me, unless I acquiesced to my father's demands and married the Greengrass girl." Something calculating slips into Draco's expression as he considers Harry. "But you--"   
  
"I have Ginny, yes," Harry agrees easily. "And I've got her family. But the Weasleys aren't mine, not really, and I'll always be just their son-in-law after Ginny and I marry. If we marry. She's not in any rush to let go of Quidditch and have children."   
  
"Does she know you want them?" One pale eyebrow lifts in query.   
  
"Yes. But it's always something that we can do someday… not now. Until James. Just like you were never going to have a child." Harry waits for Draco to understand.   
  
"Until James," Draco echoes. "Do you think it could have been anyone else? If I'd dreamt of Nott, or of Zabini…"   
  
"You didn't dream alone." Because Harry can't deny that. "The way you kiss is just like I remember it. I know where you're going to nip, and where your hands will go. I don't think I dreamed  _of_  you, I think I dreamed  _with_  you."   
  
"Strong magic."   
  
"Strong enough to pass energy between us and create a child." Their gazes drift towards James, and Harry smiles. "We created what we both wanted most. Together."   
  
"A family isn't defined solely by a parent and child," Draco points out.   
  
"And I'm not giving James up to you," Harry replies quickly. "He may be ours, but we'll share him."   
  
"And the--Ginny?" Draco corrects himself and Harry has to smile because Draco is, at least, trying. "What of her? Will I be attending your wedding?"   
  
"I doubt it." Harry doesn't think Ginny will take well to this at all, but she is still his friend. He owes her the conversation, and the chance to end things well. "We should take James inside and give your parents a chance to meet him properly."   
  
"Not yet." Draco's smirk is wicked, and Harry has just enough time to laugh before he is pushed back against the wall again, Draco's thigh fit between his legs, pressing in ways that are both thoroughly uncomfortable and thoroughly brilliant. Harry arches into the touch as he groans, swallowing Draco's kiss.   
  
Not yet. James is sleeping after all, and Harry isn't sure when he'll get to kiss Draco again. Just kiss and nothing more.   
  
For now.   
  
#   
  
Ginny is waiting when Harry finally gets home. She greets him with a kiss on the cheek, and takes the bag with James' things. She helps ready James for bed and settle him into his bassinet, leaning over to brush a kiss against the baby's forehead before she and Harry withdraw to the living room.   
  
"How was it?"   
  
She stands so stiffly that Harry cannot ignore it. He wraps his arms around her, and it takes a moment for her to melt, sagging against him. He tugs her with him to the sofa, and they curl together there.   
  
"It wasn't bad at all." He tells her about how Narcissa spoke babytalk to James, and how Lucius' glower dimmed when the infant smiled. "I think they're besotted with their grandchild."   
  
Her expression wavers, and he realizes that somewhere in the evening he has accepted that James is Draco's child, too. He has accepted his tie to the Malfoy family, however unexpected it was.   
  
"And Malfoy himself?" Ginny prompts, nudging him in the ribs.   
  
Harry can't contain the flush. "Draco. We've decided we ought to call each other by less formal names if we're going to be sharing a child, after all. We, um… We skipped dinner with his parents and went out to dinner on our own with James. And we talked."   
  
Mischief lights Ginny's eyes. "And kissed. Oh don't flush again, it's written all over your face that you snogged Draco Malfoy and can't figure out whether to be horrified, guilty, or turned-on."   
  
"Mostly turned-on," Harry has to admit. "But we didn't do anything else. I'm still with you."   
  
"Are you really?" She shifts next to him, turning and taking her hands in his. "The entire time we've been together, you've been having dreams about Malfoy and you've never said a bloody word, Harry. I'm not sure you've ever been fully  _with_  me."   
  
Harry has the grace to look embarrassed over that because she's right. And he should have said something, at some point. "I'm not with him, either."   
  
"You're parents." Ginny squeezes his hands. "So you ought to at least try it out." She takes a deep breath, and from long experience Harry knows she's working up to say something difficult. He braces for impact, not sure whether it will be a tirade or tears.   
  
"I spent the evening with Alicia," she says. "We just went home after practice, and she was telling me about how since Angelina moved in with George, she's been having a tough time making rent. So I said I could take the other bedroom." She continues on in a rush, not giving Harry a chance to say a word, if he could even find the breath to do so. "It'll be more convenient, since we're both flying for the Harpies, and we have the same away schedule. We've always gotten on; she says I'm like her little redheaded sister, and it's kind of brilliant feeling like I have an older sister, what with all those brothers of mine around. And it means you… you could have Malfoy move in here."   
  
Harry blinks, trapped by the thought of Malfoy sleeping in the same house as himself. "Don't you think it's a bit soon?"   
  
"He can sleep in the room I moved into." Ginny's hands move as she gestures down the hall. "I'm not telling you two to get married. I'm just saying that if he moves in, he could help you with James. With his son. And you two could have the chance to… figure things out."   
  
Harry hears the underlying words. "We're breaking up," he says quietly.   
  
"Oh, Harry." Ginny sighs. "I've known we were breaking up for months now. Magic requires  _something_ to make it happen, and if James didn't come from your heart somehow, where else could he have come from? But I'm not leaving if you need me. You're still my best mate, and I won't abandon you."   
  
Harry's eyes close, and he leans back, drawing Ginny in close to kiss the top of her head. "I love you, Gin."   
  
"I know." He can feel her smile as she tilts her head back to kiss his cheek. "And I'll always love you, Harry. But I'm not sure love is enough."   
  
It was enough for so long that it seems strange to think of a life without her. He feels her tears begin, his shoulder damp as her face presses close, but he doesn't say a word. He just holds her, and together they mourn their end.   
  
#   
  
It is a Saturday, three weeks later, when Draco moves in.   
  
He arrives with one trunk, coming in through the Floo that Harry has changed to allow Draco access any time he wants, and to lock for Ginny so she doesn't surprise them unexpectedly. Harry is lying on the floor of the living room when Draco steps through, arms stretched up, James flying in the air as he coos cheerily. Harry rolls quickly to his feet, reflexes still Seeker-fast despite the years since he has played Quidditch.   
  
He makes an attempt to reach for the trunk, then remembers James and shuffles awkwardly. "Your room is that way." He points to the door, then points to the next one down the hall. "I sleep in there, and James has a bassinet in with me. He's sleeping through the night, mostly, which is good since I have to get up for work in the morning." He makes a face. "I start back this week. I don't like the idea of putting James into infant care, but there's nothing to be done for it."   
  
Draco sends his trunk walking to his room with a flick of his wand then arches both eyebrows in disbelief. "Nothing to be done? You do realize that I am independently wealthy, and unlike you have felt no need to save the world despite the size of my vault." At Harry's bewildered expression, he smiles slightly. "You don't need to leave James with a stranger, Harry. I can be with him during the day."   
  
Oh.  _Ohhhh_ . Harry hasn't thought this far ahead, even though he has been spending an evening here and there getting to know the father of his child. They have talked about their childhoods and about the war and have said everything possible about themselves. But they haven't discussed the particulars of moving in together, or raising their son.   
  
Harry suspects they have a lot to work out in the coming days. He also expects many arguments. He tries to begin things as smoothly as possible by offering James, and once the infant is settled in his father's arms, Harry gives Draco a tour of the flat.   
  
"It's not Malfoy Manor." Harry shrugs, because he knows the place is small.   
  
"It's fine." Draco is smiling, expression soft as he looks at James, then warming as he shifts his attention to Harry. "I don't need something the size of the Manor, nor do I need the memories it invokes. My parents are living in the past, Harry. I find that for once, I'm rather looking forward to the future."   
  
When evening comes, James is settled in for sleep soon after dinner, and Harry and Draco take their wine glasses to the couch.   
  
After two glasses, the kisses are like drugs, and Harry feels reality slipping away from him. It is altogether dreamlike and familiar, and by the time they set aside glasses empty of their third round of wine, there is nothing left to say but, "Your bedroom."   
  
"Why mine?" Draco lifts one eyebrow in inquiry.   
  
Harry smiles as he stands, pulling Draco to his feet. "Because James is sleeping in mine and we don't want to wake him."   
  
Draco doesn't argue that point, and Harry is glad because he discovers that his dreams were right: sex with Draco is nothing like sex with Ginny and Harry is impossibly loud about it. But once they are both exhausted--soaked in sweat and pleasantly sated--Harry excuses himself to creep down the hall towards his own room. He wants to be there if James wakes.   
  
He lies there in the darkness, smiling at nothing and drifting slowly towards sleep. A few moments later he hears footsteps, feels the bed dip as someone lies behind him. Harry catches the hand that wraps around him, pressing a kiss to Draco's fingertips, and wrapped in the arms of his lover, he sleeps.   
  
#   
  
James' first birthday celebration is held at the Manor. Harry tries to protest, but as James' only living grandparents, the Malfoys insist. So Harry insists that none of his friends be barred from the festivities. He grins at Lucius' sour expression as Hermione walks through the door with Ron, then as others of "dubious" blood heritage arrive. Molly is loudest, proclaiming her love of the drapery and stopping to question the house elves about what they might do for a Doxy infestation.   
  
By the time the cake is brought out, Molly and Narcissa sit shoulder to shoulder, both speaking fondly of James. Lucius still looks as if he has swallowed a lemon, but he smiles tightly and has a camera in hand to record the historic moment of James' first birthday.   
  
Harry laughs when James smears chocolate all down Draco's arms, grinding the sweetness into his good robes. Draco retaliates by pulling Harry close, chocolate-smeared hands gripping his jeans-clad bum to hold him and kiss him thoroughly while everyone cheers.   
  
Draco is smiling and relaxed. James is cheerful and enthralled by the gifts and attention.   
  
And Harry is happy.   
  
He hears a throat clear next to him and glances down to see Ginny standing there. She nudges him and grins. "Seems to me like everything turned out just fine, didn't it?"   
  
Harry can't resist teasing her. "And how's Zabini?" He loves the way her flush spreads under her freckles, and the tell-tale way her gaze seeks out the tall dark-skinned man who is holding court on the opposite side of the room.   
  
"He's brilliant," she admits. "I might even be glad you two interfering gits set us up."   
  
"We didn't do any such thing. We just happened to invite the two of you along to dinner one night." Harry feigns innocence, but looks away when a fresh shout of laughter calls his attention.   
  
Draco holds James in his arms, and chocolate has been smeared all over James' face and hair, and there are fresh streaks of dark chocolate marring Draco's pale hair as well. Harry meets Draco's gaze across the room, and is moving at the unsaid words, smiling fondly.   
  
"You need a shower," he murmurs as he takes his son. James greets him with a sloppy kiss and a hug, ensuring that Harry is covered in nearly as much chocolate as Draco.   
  
"So do you."   
  
Harry grins, feeling heat rushing through him, even more intense than it was when they first began. He used to think that reality was just like dreams, but he now realizes that the dreams were only a pale imitation of what he and Draco have together. They were an appetizer. A teaser to bring them into the life they were meant to have.   
  
His grin tilts lopsided. "I think we ought to go get all three of us cleaned up before anyone else ends up messy," he says, trying for innocence and knowing he isn't fooling anyone.   
  
Draco smirks. "How kind you are to our guests." He turns and calls out, "We'll just be stepping out for bit, but please, don't delay the party on our account. I assure you, we shall return when our family is once again presentable."   
  
Family.   
  
Harry has never loved that word more than he does at that exact moment, as Draco, he and James exit the room to the cheers and laughter of their friends and relatives. This  _family_  is all he has ever wanted.   
  
Draco lifts their linked hands and kisses his fingertips. "And to think that I once thought I would never have anything but my dreams," he says softly.   
  
"This is better," Harry tells him.   
  
A bruising kiss is Draco's reply, ending only when James calls out, "Dada!" and tries to hug them both until they laugh. They make their way to the guest suite where they can clean up, and as James naps, his fathers can spend some time relaxing in their own way.   
  
This is his life now, and Harry knows it is better than anything that was only in his dreams.


End file.
